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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26428069">Four times Caspian slept with a Pevensie (and one time he slept with them all)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starbrow/pseuds/Starbrow'>Starbrow</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>5 Things, 5+1 Things, And all the pairings, But it's okay because they're dead, Caspian is the Narnian bicycle, F/F, F/M, He is very okay with this, I'm not kidding it's a Narnian orgy, Incest, It's really 4 Things but there's also a Star so 5 is fair, M/M, Multi, Orgy, Unexpected Problem of Susan!, literally all of them - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:28:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,076</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26428069</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starbrow/pseuds/Starbrow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>What it says on the tin.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Caspian/Edmund Pevensie, Caspian/Edmund Pevensie/Peter Pevensie, Caspian/Lucy Pevensie, Caspian/Lucy Pevensie/Ramandu's Daughter | Liliandil, Caspian/Peter Pevensie, Caspian/Peter Pevensie/Susan Pevensie, Caspian/Susan Pevensie, Edmund Pevensie &amp; Lucy Pevensie &amp; Peter Pevensie &amp; Susan Pevensie, Lucy Pevensie/Ramandu's Daughter | Liliandil</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Narnia Fic Exchange 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Four times Caspian slept with a Pevensie (and one time he slept with them all)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snacky/gifts">Snacky</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/rthstewart/gifts">rthstewart</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/pencildragon/gifts">pencildragon</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveandrockmusic/gifts">loveandrockmusic</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/metonomia/gifts">metonomia</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/be_themoon/gifts">be_themoon</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/nasimwrites/gifts">nasimwrites</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starbrow/gifts">Starbrow</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>My little love note to my fab NFE peeps. I can't even say I'm sorry this exists, because I'm not. Read at your own risk! I've left ages unspecified, but this is definitely movie timeline, so squint and they're above British age of consent.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The afternoon of their victory at Beruna, they traveled upriver far enough to reach an inn, and Peter’s pride would never have allowed him to admit that this was a relief, but it was assuredly for his benefit that they stopped there. There was no way he was taking a drop of Lucy’s cordial when he wasn’t actually wounded, just sore as hell from the duel and immediate battle after. He would take, though, a real bed. And a real bath. Bless hot springs and the Naiad there, daughter of a sun God.</p><p>It took a good five minutes to actually get in the bath. It was a neat little pool, built over the natural spring, mineral-salted and steaming hot, and every cut and bruise on Peter’s body hissed at him in protest. There was no one to see him easing himself in like a water-shy pony, so it didn’t really matter.</p><p>He didn’t remember closing his eyes, but he must have, because the sound of a soft “Oh” drew him back to himself, blinking. Caspian had let himself into the chamber, no doubt thinking it unoccupied, and stood staring at him. Whatever was visible of him above the surface, just a bunching of shoulder and arm muscles from where he leaned against the pool’s stone wall.</p><p>Caspian looked torn between fleeing and jumping in. Peter waved a hand. “Plenty of room.”</p><p>The newest Narnian King took his sweet time deciding, but in the end, the siren call of the steaming water proved too strong. He loosened his tunic and shrugged out of it, revealing a panoply of bruises himself, though fewer scrapes than Peter himself, he noticed as he looked Caspian over critically. Shoes and trousers followed, although Caspian self-consciously left his undergarments on as he stepped into the pool. Once he was all the way in, though, there was no self-consciousness in the blatant moan he gave, head tipping back until the ends of his hair were damp.</p><p>“That good?” said Peter, wryly, because frankly, it was.</p><p>“Don’t tell me you don’t need this more than me,” Caspian replied, eyes closed, chin high.</p><p>“Oh, I do,” and Peter laughed, his voice feeling raspy in his throat, and even laughing hurt his sides. Worth it.</p><p>He was quiet a few moments. The peace felt strange. But. Good.</p><p>“You know,” said Peter, willing to break it...or, perhaps, build on it. “There is the strangest rumour going about camp. Which we are doing nothing to dispel tonight.”</p><p>“And what is that, Peter?” He decided he liked the way Caspian used his name, at last. Liked the way it made them sound like equals.</p><p>“That we were acting terribly queer after the summoning in Aslan’s Howe, and not just because we’d called up a thousand-year-old Witch. It seems two of Narnia’s Kings found some outlet for their feelings in each other’s arms that night.”</p><p>Caspian’s eyes flew open. “What?”</p><p>“I know,” said Peter, shaking his head. “I’d like to remember such a night, myself. Do you remember drinking anything that might have made you forget? I was stone cold sober.”</p><p>Caspian’s lips were parted, breathing hard. “I remember all too well.” His gaze was fixed upon Peter, and that look was back. The jump right in look. “I think I’d remember something like...like that…” Beneath his tan, his cheeks flushed.</p><p>“Well…” Water sloshed around Peter’s body as he pushed himself away from the wall and into the space around Caspian. “If neither of us remember, perhaps we’d better start from scratch.”</p><p>His hand cupped the back of Caspian’s head, and Caspian’s hands settled on his shoulders, and whatever bruises sang at them as lips and hips met, they did a fine job of ignoring them.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-</p>
</div><p>Somehow, early on in the days aboard the Dawn Treader, Edmund and Caspian had settled into a routine of meeting in the council room, with its fractured light from the panels of stained-glass windows at the window seat, and its collection of maps and books and records, and reviewing the events of the day, the progress of their quest, the state of Narnia back home, any number of things that might be handled, King to King, without prying ears around. If they’d included anyone else in these meetings - Drinian, perhaps, and the second mate, and Somnus the Faun who had researched many of their maps and islands from a thousand years ago - it might have well been an official sort of council.</p><p>But it was not official, as they all well knew. When Drinian would come to the doors, and knock, and scrupulously wait upon entering, well, it was as if he expected to burst in upon them in the midst of a raging storm, madly entwined on the cushions lining the bay window.</p><p>Madness. Sheer madness.</p><p>The confines of a ship were small, growing smaller every day. A dozen men shared their berth below deck, even if their hammocks were slung close enough to hear each other breathing, and the whimpers of nightmares in the darkest of the night. Above deck by day was crowded, with little room to breathe without someone else nearby, much less speak or, Lion’s Mane, dally.</p><p>It was just a breath of solitude. With each other. With an ever-dearer companion, his fellow King.<br/>
He had slept barely an hour or two that night, and if you know Edmund well, you will know that he was in a very poor mood because of it. He could barely focus on what Caspian was saying. There was a question. He was supposed to answer it. </p><p>He rubbed his eyes and looked up from his seat by the window. Even the afternoon light was dull and foggy, grey like his mood, and like all the others'. "Er..." No idea what that question was. None whatsoever.</p><p>"Edmund."</p><p>Caspian stepped forward, reached for his shoulder. "You haven't been sleeping."</p><p>"Neither have you." Edmund wanted to reach out in return. He stayed there, hands over his eyes, aware of Caspian standing close in front of him.</p><p>"You can't keep going on like this."</p><p>"And what would you suggest?" He looked up, wishing he was less tired, less snappish, wishing he could throw off whatever was dogging their steps, for Caspian's sake and the others' as much as his own. Wished Caspian wouldn't look at him so, and would look more at him so.</p><p>"Get some sleep."</p><p>The offer was genuine. And the hands that gripped Caspian's waist suddenly, and the words that followed, were nakedly honest. "Help me," Edmund shot at him, tired beyond pretense, games, or diplomacy. "Wear me out. Until I am too tired to dream. Until I can't even remember what She says."</p><p>Caspian bent over him, and his mouth was warm and soft, blanket-soft, meadow-soft, and made of dreams. Edmund clutched at him. Days of claps upon the back, clasped hands, glancing touches, close nights breathing each other's air, reconciled into relief, and then a surge of greater need.</p><p>While mutiny clustered beyond the closed doors of the council chambers, Kings twined and gasped and, finally, slept.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-</p>
</div> <p>When Caspian came to find Liliandil early before dawn, the morning they were to set off from Ramandu's Island, he realized too late that she was not alone, and, furthermore, that she was reclined beneath her gauzy canopy with another girl. It was with a greater blush that he realized that girl was Lucy.</p><p>Wholly embarrassed at his faux pas, he turned away.</p><p>"Where are you going?" It was Liliandil's cool voice that called to him, curious, almost detached. "You wished to speak with me?"</p><p>Caught. He stopped, turned back, gaze studiously upon his feet. "It can wait."</p><p>"But you leave this morning. It will wait a long time, if you do not speak now. Come. If we are in agreement?"</p><p>And Caspian understood that her question was not addressed to him. He heard the quiet murmur in return, keen as his ears were to hear the answer. "Fully."</p><p>Lucy's words drew his smile and gaze, both. He took in the sight of them, the pale-haired daughter of the Star, the Blue Star he had sought all this time, and the dark-haired Queen, whose faith had cradled him from the very first day of his Kingship, and heart and body cried out for the perfect harmony of their arms, wrapped around each other.</p><p>He would not wish for Liliandil to take any other form. He would not wish for Lucy to be any other Queen but Lucy, there by her side. He only wished to find some place with them, here in the quiet of dawn's bedchamber.</p><p>Caspian gestured helplessly. "Edmund - "</p><p>Liliandil smiled. "Edmund knows what your heart desires. His is much the same."</p><p>Strange but unquestionably true. They had both wanted Liliandil to stay as she was. The Blue Star, the embodiment of their hard-fought search, the source of wonder and beauty and light in the darkness of their quest. And they had both wanted her.</p><p>But Lucy...</p><p>Caspian's gaze melted over the youngest Queen, the heart of Narnia, bound up in that quest beyond unraveling.</p><p>Liliandil kissed her, then rose till she was seated in her bed, breasts bare, wholly unconscious. "You cannot kiss the Princess," she said to Caspian, as if it was perfectly clear. "But you can kiss the Queen."</p><p>And he did. Over, and over and over, and all over, not because there was any enchantment to be broken, but simply because Lucy tasted like home, and like the sweetness of water he would dream about all his life, and because she cried his name with an aching stutter, and he didn't have to find a Queen to compare with her sister, because there simply was no comparison, she was Lucy  and that made all the difference.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-</p>
</div><p>It was an ordinary day, until it wasn't.</p><p>Completely ordinary, routine day at the office - even staying late was becoming the norm, and if Susan thought her wages should reflect the extra time, she thought it prudent to wait until she had some influence before stating such - and she was just finishing up the files when there was a rattling at the door.</p><p>Her breath caught. Old instincts flared. No one should be here at this hour.</p><p>The latch lifted.</p><p>And a man walked in that she had never expected to see again.</p><p>He was almost exactly as she remembered him. Was it only a year ago? It seemed like a lifetime.</p><p>She didn't know it had been a lifetime for him.</p><p>She just knew that Caspian was at her desk, and her arms were around him, or his around her, she never knew which came first, but it didn't matter really. He was here. He was hers. And she didn't have to let go.</p><p>"I don't want to ask how," Susan said.</p><p>"You don't have to," Caspian told her between kisses, and his mouth was like she'd remembered, too, and yet with something strong and wild that she didn't remember, something untamed and golden. She couldn't know he'd just been kissing a Lion. She didn't ask.</p><p>Susan flipped the lock on the door and pulled Caspian close, until her back pressed into the door and her body against his. Something bumped at her hip. The carved shape of her Horn, slung at his hip.</p><p>“Thirteen hundred and five,” she said, touching his face. “It still won’t work.”</p><p>“And I’m dead, and I have five minutes,” he said, and his hands spanned her waist, the fine pleats of her bodice.</p><p>“Can you make them good?” she whispered. Her fingers pulled loose his shirt from his trousers. </p><p>“Exceptional.”</p><p>He was as good as his word.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-</p>
</div><p>Caspian laughed to find his wife once more in the arms of her Queenly lover, both of them as young and as old as they’d ever been, but the bower of Birches they’d found was occupied by more than one set of lovers, for wine flowed freely in these rivers through the summerlands of Aslan’s Country, and Bacchus and his wild girls walked among them, and a bit of Midsummer madness was upon them all.</p><p>There, too, by the banks of the pool the Birches flanked, he was struck by a sight he’d never seen before, the High King Peter kneeling before his brother, not the High King but just King Edmund, fingertips digging into pale hips and golden head bent between them.</p><p>Caspian was surprised to find he could still blush, after all these years.</p><p>With a shared glance, Liliandil and Lucy pulled him down into their bed. A successful ambush, on their part. And how could he object? He could kiss both Princess and Queen now, and his Queen and her Queen, in equal measure. The light of dawn was in the curve of Liliandil’s lips, and the salt of the sea was on Lucy’s skin.</p><p>“This was the way it was always supposed to be,” Lucy murmured against the Star’s shoulder, damp with afterglow, feather-light breath ghosting across to Caspian’s chest.</p><p>“This is how you always wanted it to be,” Liliandil said, and it was good to hear the satisfaction in her voice, after the sorrow she had known in life. She stroked her fingers below Caspian’s collarbone. “None of us alone, anymore. None of it, wrong to want.”</p><p>You cannot want wrong things any more, now that you have died.</p><p>Liliandil glanced over at the pile of Kings not far from there. “They’re missing one,” she commented idly.</p><p>Edmund was flat on his back in a patch of sweet clover, and Peter was curved over him with a hand in his hair, and Edmund’s hand stroking him in return. Peter was muttering something in his ear, and Edmund’s gaze darted to Caspian and then quickly away.</p><p>It was nice to be missed.</p><p>“Well?” said Peter, looking straight at Caspian. “Isn’t it about time?” And even though time was their friend at last, Caspian wasted none of it, not a single moment.</p><p>He came to Peter, a kiss in his eyes. A breath later, it was on their lips, catching at their lungs. Soft grass pressed into Caspian’s knees, and hard flesh against his bare torso.</p><p>It might have gone on a very long time, if a second pair of hands hadn’t tugged at him and Peter. “Come on, no hogging Caspian,” Edmund said, and Caspian laughed.</p><p>“Isn’t there enough of me to go around?”</p><p>“Plenty,” said Edmund. </p><p>There was even some left for Lucy and Liliandil when they awoke.</p><p>When so much of him had been tended to that Caspian wondered if there was an inch of him that hadn’t been touched, between the four of them, he stretched out by the pool and let his fingers trail across the water’s still surface. All around him, in various stages of repose, lay his dearest ones. Save one.</p><p>He reached for his cloak, amidst all their discarded garments. It was still there, tucked away in a pocket, a talisman carried even into Aslan’s Country. Caspian brushed his thumb over the lion’s carved mouth, rubbing a well-worn path. The Horn was the last connection left with the Queen who had filled his boyhood dreams and swam through his decades of memories.</p><p>It had been a good life. Some of it lonely, too many times of having to let go, but by any reckoning, he’d known as much love as any one man could expect to hold in a lifetime. He had nothing to regret. Just the whispers of a young heart.</p><p>Drowsily, he put the mouthpiece of the Horn to his lips and gave it a soft, short blow. Most of his companions were sleeping deeply enough, he thought it would not wake them, but Lucy stirred and blinked at him. </p><p>When she realized what he held, what the sound was, she bit her lip and reached over to clasp his pool-damp hand. “I know,” was all she said. She held on, and he squeezed her palm, finding a measure of comfort in sharing that ache of something vital missing. “We all do,” Lucy whispered. They would never all be together again, just most of them. It would have to suffice.</p><p>Caspian fell asleep with her hand cradled against his chest and the chorus of breaths around him, three Pevensies and a Star.</p><p>He dreamed of a woman emerging from the pool, like one of those stories of King Arthur they’d told him on the Dawn Treader, slowly stepping from its depths, all in white, dark hair streaming. Her eyes were the clearest of blues, her beauty almost painful, her posture graceful and dignified.</p><p>Her expression gave her away. She looked around her with amazement, like she couldn’t comprehend what she was seeing. This was no sorceress, goddess, or Naiad. Just a very bewildered Queen.</p><p>The water streamed away from her as she walked the few steps to where Caspian lay entangled with the others. Her eyes moved over them all, and like a dreamer often does, he wanted to speak, wanted to move, but found he couldn’t, just watch as she pressed her fingers to her lips. She stood there a long time. He wanted to know what she was thinking, if the sight of them brought her happiness or pain, or something else all together.</p><p>And then her eyes turned to him, and Caspian looked into Susan’s eyes after all those years - how long had they been for her? - and she knew him. He heard the sound of her breath, the sharp inhale of it over the others’.</p><p>“You called.”</p><p>“We need you.”</p><p>A moment, before her bare feet glided over the grass, and she knelt by his side, and her arms encircled him. They felt as real as any of the others around him. “Still?”</p><p>“Always.”</p><p>And the missing piece inside him slid into the place it belonged. He prayed they would have time, all of them, that she would be there when he woke, for him and for Lucy and Edmund and Peter. But he didn’t dare test it, simply let his forehead rest against hers and close his eyes.</p><p>The most beautiful feeling in the world, he decided, was the touch of three hands over Susan’s where they clasped his back. “Finally,” said Peter, which was exactly what Caspian was thinking. He opened his eyes. And there, finally, were all of them, as they always should have been.</p>
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